


RED

by Eyesthatseenothing



Series: Gallavich Week [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 3x666 Alluded, Canon Compliant, Day 2: Times when Ian and Mickey had each other's back, Delusions of Blood, GW2017A, Heavy Angst, Implied Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 09:29:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11033412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eyesthatseenothing/pseuds/Eyesthatseenothing
Summary: Gallavich week Day 2; Times when Ian and Mickey had each other's back.IanIf she hadn’t come, if he hadn’t run, if he hadn’t sought out comfort, the pale dirt smeared skin wouldn’t have spilled red that refused to leave his mind just as she hadn’t done.MickeyHe’d watched him through barely opened eyes as his skin turned a sickly pale with streaks of red running down his face and chest, a look of terror mixed with something more, something he could never have from this day forth.





	RED

**Author's Note:**

> I've written about what I think is the first trauma and the most excruciating trauma that they went through and how I could see it affecting them. Both instances neglected in canon in regards to the emotional and mental state they would have left them in but still thinking of the other.
> 
> The first part when Ian had Mickey’s back I feel is the first trauma they went through together. While it pales in comparison to the second part it shows Ian’s feelings developing along with how witnessing the incident may have affected him and the only way Ian could have his back during this time. 
> 
> The second part when Mickey had Ian’s back both were traumatised but considerably more so for Mickey. This time in their lives left me hurting more than Ian’s illness and their breakups and believe me I thoroughly understand both. Mickey did the only thing he could to have Ian’s back during this time, circumstances leaving no other options.

 

Ian

Ian watched through heavy lidded eyes as the first touch of morning sun filtered through the flimsy, out of shape blinds of his shared bedroom window. His brothers light snoring the only sound in the quiet room while he lay still wide awake from the previous evening consumed by his conflicted emotions. He knew what he felt, he’d been feeling it for a while now and was positive it was one sided but that didn’t change how he felt in the least, if anything it made the subject of his feelings more alluring while unattainable.

His thoughts were presently preoccupied as they had been for the past few days by smudges of dirt covered pale white skin, tobacco infused clothes that could be washed a 100 times over and never lose that scent, the words fuck u-up scrawled over strong fingers, derogatory comments that streamed from full lips, a shade of blue so striking the thought of it alone caused his stomach to clench and then red. 

He had to force himself not to think too much of the colour blue as he lay in his bed that was starting to become too small for his growing body and the threadbare blankets that covered him or the colour red would flood his view, take over his vision making his breathing harsh and painful when he tried to inhale.

Red. Fuck red and the images it produced in his mind. When he looked at his hands they seemed to ooze red from their very pores which was completely the opposite of what they had done only days before. Back then his hands flowed from pale and freckled to pale and tattooed, blending so perfectly as his body chased its release that never came, that was interrupted and ended in red.

For 4 days, he’d scrubbed his hands relentlessly unable to rid them of the red that stained them, that had gotten under his finger nails and refused to leave them. Hands that had stopped the flow of red as it seeped from pale skin through blue denim jeans and thickened on his own skin as the flashing red and blue lights erupted through the store.

If she hadn’t come, if he hadn’t run, if he hadn’t sought out comfort, the pale dirt smeared skin wouldn’t have spilled red that refused to leave his mind just as she hadn’t done. The look of pain as he held down the red, as it seeped between his fingers while he leaned over trying to make it stop, staring into blue eyes that shone wetly but didn’t spill a drop, then over to brown eyes that oozed hatred, jealousy and spite.

When he thought of yesterday it was filled with crutches behind plexiglass, of clean pale skin, blue eyes that held back pain but looked on him fondly? Gratefully? and a sort of half smile, half smirk that greeted him after thanking him for the money, the red money, the blood money that he’d threatened the one with cold resentful brown eyes to part with. It may not have been much, a lousy few hundred bucks that would help him through his stay, but it was far safer than the truth.

******

Mickey

Mickey’s finger didn’t just ache it throbbed, tendrils of white hot pain shot through it burning from the inside out, the searing pain starting at the tip of his finger, shooting up his arm and then piercing into his heart as his eyes fogged over with red.

He imagined his finger leaking, a slow flow of molten red hot lava drizzling from the end and leaving a red thickness of trailing ooze on everything he touched, every surface he brushed past, even the numerous bottles of whiskey he’d held were left with traces of red that only he could see and feel.

The pain in his finger had only been there a matter of days, from the moment the constricting band of cheap gold had been forced brutally onto it while he’d snatched quick glimpses to the far end of the room by the bar and saw red. Not the burning red but the type that branded his soul he had imagined, if he even believed he had one. The red he saw sitting by the bar was breaking while tears trailed from anguish ridden green eyes. The red he had touched, felt and been filled with only moments before the searing pain had begun.

He tried to make himself look away from that red that clenched so tightly inside his chest, burrowed so deeply he knew it would never leave, the grip of his father’s hand squeezing around the pitiful thing that pumped inside him as he felt the slow trickle he refused to name slowly drip down the back of his thighs while he relished the bittersweet burn it left in its wake. 

He felt those green eyes intensely as they watched him, as he awkwardly moved to the rhythm of the music. The song his father had chosen for him, ‘Lady in Red’, while the bastard smirked at him with bloodshot eyes that glowered between himself and the bar. His vision began blurring as the red now stumbled, shouted, was dragged from his view as he felt the reason leaning into his vague touch.

Later he sat in the dark in his tuxedo, in exactly the spot the red had consumed them. He’d watched him through barely opened eyes as his skin turned a sickly pale with streaks of red running down his face and chest, a look of terror mixed with something more, something he could never have from this day forth. He closed his eyes but was assailed by more. This red he had caused, this red he had left lying in agony as he broke him, broke them, broke himself and left his heart pleading, bleeding, on ground surrounded by gravel and decay.

Out of sight he watched the bus leave, felt the throbbing constricting agony ease ever so slightly as he rested his hand against the wall before him and realized the red, the blood that stained his life these past few months had faded somewhat. He’d made a deal with pure evil but his heart was safer for it, for now.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know how you felt about my thoughts in choosing these times, I felt they related to the theme for me. Your kudos and comments are as always most welcome.


End file.
